


Eat This Bread & Drink This Cup

by jazzypizzaz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Thanksgiving, cross-culture sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: Sisko gathers the crew together for a holiday meal.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Star Trek Secret Santa 2020





	Eat This Bread & Drink This Cup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlyoptimisticanchor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyoptimisticanchor/gifts).



> written for Secret Santa, based the prompt "all crew party at Sisko's" (and a little bit of prompt "Worf & Odo friends")
> 
> This is the Thanksgiving dinner referred to in 5x23 "Blaze of Glory."

“Thank you all so much for gathering with me here today.” Captain Sisko beams, his arms spread wide. Around a large table laid heavy with food, the station’s senior staff and guests are gathered.

“We didn’t have a choice, you’re our boss.” Someone (probably Bashir) stage-whispers.

“I expect you to enjoy the food, and that’s an order,” Sisko says, chuckling along. 

“Sir, yes sir.” Chief O’Brien sniffs a nearby clay bowl of candied sweet potatoes with great interest.

“The feast before you is one hundred percent fresh grown, not a replicated element. I’ve spent months growing each ingredient, combing through old recipes in my spare time, planning this meal.” Sisko looks around at his crew, making eye contact with each in turn, old faces and new. “All for you, my excellent crew, my family.”

“Better be damn good then!” Kira smiles. She raises her glass of springwine. “A toast, to our captain!”

“Hear, hear!” Bashir says and others join in the general sentiment. A symphony of clinking glass as they all toast. “For he’s a jolly good fellow and all that.”

“A jolly good fellow who is smart enough to know that the quickest way to our devotion is through the stomach.” Jadzia downs her half-drunk springwine and pours another for the toast.

“And courteous enough to not keep us waiting to tuck in,” O’Brien mutters.

Sisko grins, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright alright, I’ll save the speech for later. As we say in New Orleans… laissez les bon temps rouler! Enjoy.”

Momentary silence falls -- save for the clinking of dishes being passed around, the smack of lips and crunch of teeth, the quiet groans of pleasure. Gradually conversation filters back in between bites:

“This -- what did you call it?” 

“Stuffing.” 

“It’s to _die_ for. Hand me the tray again, I need a third helping.”

“I don’t know, a bit too much tarragon for my taste.”

“You’re crazy, it’s perfect.” 

“There’s a little something extra in it I can’t quite place, something crunchy --”

“Tube grubs.”

“ _Tube grubs?!_ ”

“Roasted tube grubs. Adds a particular nuttiness, don’t you think?”

“I’ll pass on thirds then. More of that one though, if you don’t mind reaching for me...”

“I thought I was done, but now I definitely want more!”

“And _that’s_ why they call it stuffing.”

Nog piles his plate high with the stuffing; he’s surely eaten his (very small) weight in food by now. Bashir reaches across to find the hasperat-spiced brussels sprouts and passes them to Kira. O’Brien hasn’t quite yet come up for air, working his way through a plate he stacked to hold as much as possible -- engineering skills at work. Jake cuts up some sweet potatoes for Molly’s plate. Quark, plate only half-eaten, makes the rounds and pours more drinks for everyone whether they want more or not (he’s clearly being compensated by the bottle). Dax argues jovially with Sisko about the best alien cuisine fusions. 

Odo watches this all with a resting grump face, one hand clutching a (shifted) coffee mug he refills from time to time as he pretends to drink from it. Next to him, Worf forks small neat bites of green bean casserole into his mouth.

Worf chews thoughtfully, then remarks, “I must admit I do not much enjoy obligatory social engagements like these --”

“Neither do I... Captain’s orders,” Odo grumbles.

“But the incorporation of gagh in this dish is truly inspired.”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t eat.” Odo scoffs. “We can continue to make small talk if you require --”

“Odo's not the best conversational partner,” Quark chimes in, refilling Worf’s prune juice and pointedly skipping Odo. “You’re new on the station, but trust me I know.”

Worf stares stone-faced at Quark, one eyebrow raised. Quark cringes a little.

“Seems to be catching…” Quark quickly scuttles off to the next half-empty glass. 

“We can sit in companionable silence, if you would like” Worf says to Odo, the hint of a smile twitching at his lip. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Odo says with a gracious nod, drinking from his coffee mug. “And I will remember you for future parties.”

Across the table, Rom takes a gigantic bite of cornbread. He partially swallows, then continues talking around the sodden chunks. “I loooove hoo-mons! This is an Earth holiday _every_ year?”

“Don’t ask me.” Keiko eyes his table manners with a grimace, but engages politely. “It’s a regional one, I think. Not one everyone celebrates, like First Contact Day or Federation Day.”

“It’s called Thanksgiving,” Jake tells Rom. “Kinda like Peldar Joi, but less fire and more food.”

“I like the food! The food’s the best part.” Rom sops up some creole gravy with the rest of his cornbread.

“And a more contentious history, unfortunately. The food really is the best part. It’s supposed to occur around harvest, autumn on the North American continent, although…” Jake does some mental math. “It’s actually still summer right now.”

“I suppose harvest can occur year-round on a space station,” Dax points out. “And according to the Bajoran calendar, it _is_ autumn in the Kendra Province.”

“That is one thing I miss about being up here,” Keiko sighs. “Seasons… the way an ecosystem adapts to climatic shifts. I miss spring. When a plant only blooms for one part of the year, or drops seeds for another -- it’s special.”

“I always loved fall when we’d visit Grandpa for Thanksgiving,” Jake says. “The heat and humidity in New Orleans would finally subside a bit. Sometimes there’d even be a crispness in the air, falling leaves… Then right after Thanksgiving, there are a bunch of different holidays with religious roots people celebrate. Something about humans, when it gets cold and dark out we find reasons to get together and create our own warmth.” 

“Trill too…” Dax says dreamily. “There are five moons and supposedly if your different hosts are born under different moons, it can affect the symbiont in certain ways-- scientifically nonsense, but some people get really into it. Then, every couple of years, they all align, and we celebrate the Festival of Moons. It happened in winter where I grew up, the air crisp and clear, the snow shining with moonlight. I guess there are holoprograms you could use, but it’s the context that made it special you know?”

“It’s just not the same in space,” Keiko says.

“Yeah.” 

Companionable nods all around, as those listening think about their homeworlds, those connections they have to distant places and distant people. Despite feeble protests about how they couldn’t possibly eat another bite, dessert is served -- jumja-cranberry, pumpkin, and larish pies -- and the group continues sharing with each other about the traditions that have shaped them, which ones they’ve taken with them or have created anew.

Sisko listens to the stories and cultural quirks, surveying his bonding crew with fatherly pride. How glorious this is, to have people from so many planets and varied experiences here together, as one group. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations” indeed, and all the stronger for it.

Plates are being scraped clean, and people sit back satisfied in their chairs.

Sisko clears his throat and eventually the conversation fades in response. 

“As my toast earlier was interrupted,” He winks at Jadzia, “I’ll continue it now.” He raises his glass. Quark, overjoyed, goes around filling cups one last time, so everyone can join Sisko. “To camaraderie. And to community.” 

They murmur agreement and toast together.

“Because this meal, like our work on this station, was impossible without help. Each dish was prepared the traditional, old-fashioned way, with many of your hands assisting me with cutting, stirring, mashing, et cetera. Well, as traditional as it gets with a hydroponics garden on a space station,” Sisko nods to Keiko O’Brien, “incorporating local spices and flavor profiles,” he winks at Kira, “as well as non-Terran vermiculture to ensure all dietary needs are met,“ he nods to Worf and various Ferengi. “This is not a meal that would be the same anywhere else, with any other people -- it has been shaped by each of you in some way. As you have learned, this holiday is about gratitude. 

“From the depths of my heart, I want to thank you personally for your service, your commitment, and yes, your devotion -- to me; to Bajor, to Starfleet, or to each other, as the case may be.”

“Cheers!”


End file.
